


magic worker

by karamelised



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of??) - Freeform, Anal Sex, Card Games, M/M, Sex Magic, the one where they don't hate each other for one night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karamelised/pseuds/karamelised
Summary: Sometimes, a single night can make a difference.





	magic worker

**Author's Note:**

> This is an outtake of how they ended up _not_ meeting in the long fic I’m writing. 
> 
> Thank you to [Andy](http://aurrorpotter.tumblr.com/) for the quick beta.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and Happy Holidays!!

The secret room beneath the store was muggy with stale heat, ill-lit and full of lying wizards. A moment ago, Draco had been besting them with ease. The new player though was fucking up his game.

Draco brought the firewhiskey up to his lips, a grand show but little more than pretense since he needed his faculties. He’d _Evanesco_ it at an opportune moment when the others’ attention was diverted.

The new guy shifted in his seat and bit his lip. Draco narrowed his eyes. He didn’t buy the ‘aww shucks’ routine one bit.

Richter, sitting to his right, scratched his crotch obscenely to cover the movement of his other hand. The silent spell wasn’t directed at Draco, so he didn’t bother blocking it. Spells weren’t Richter’s strength. Every time Draco had played him, he’d had that same knot of magic over his right eye. Likely a concealment charm, hiding away a spy-glass eye or similar. Draco made sure to magically conceal two or three cards from him at all times, cloaking them as something else, no more. It wouldn’t do to let Richter know he’d caught on.

Stooge grunted to his left, picking up his own drink and slobbering half of it down the stained front of his shirt. He burped loudly, calling across the weakly lit room to the bar for another, swaying comically before using some very clumsy wandless magic to slide a card down his voluminous sleeve. Draco tried not to roll his eyes as he sent a precise tendril of magic that way, charming the card into a three of spades. Whatever Stooge had planned, a three of spades would definitely throw him off his game.

Truly, those two clowns didn’t worry him. There were several winnings to his name that proved he had no difficulty handling them. Hell, they’d paid for a big chunk of last month's rent. And that was good because Draco needed the money. In direct contrast to his upbringing, he didn’t mind putting in the work, especially if it meant hustling these two idiots out of their hard-earned cash.

No, what worried him was the newcomer. Margereet had escorted him into the basement minutes ago. Draco was sure he knew all the regulars from The Den, but seeing how confidently the newcomer moved around, he must have missed one. It was difficult to make out his face, hooded by his cloak as it was.

They hadn’t met here before, that was for sure. The guy was shrouded in so much magic it felt like wildfire to Draco’s finely honed senses. He would have remembered that. The magic danced in swirls and puffs around him, eager to be used, sticking close like a herding dog just waiting for the next command.

And then he’d spotted Draco and immediately asked to join their game. Someone he knew, then, or someone who knew him. Right then Draco was glad for the no-wands rule of The Den. If this was someone who wanted him ill, he didn’t need a wand on top of all that power.

He sat opposite Draco and even now his magic coiled around him like mist, tendrils of it licking up his side even as he tried to keep it controlled, keep it contained. And yet it spilled over like frothy champagne, increasingly so, all attempts to reign it in unsuccessful.

It made Draco’s head spin, while also piquing his interest. Because of course, he didn’t already have enough on his plate.

A careless sweep of the stranger’s hands through his hair removed the hood. Dark hair sat atop his head, knotted in a loose bun and slightly disheveled now. That and his beard reminded Draco of the kind of fashionable look the muggles had worn back in France. He hadn’t been back long, but the trend had clearly caught on in the English wizarding community, too. He wouldn’t complain as he quite enjoyed that look, the one that accentuated masculine beauty while still taking it back to more basic roots.

The stranger's face was nothing noteworthy, average in all respects. A square jaw not too squared, nose a tad too big but not too much so. No cheekbones to write home about and even the green of his eyes was just so… common.

Draco didn’t believe it for a second.

Besides the overwhelming power rolling off this guy, Draco could sense the magical object dangling from a necklace. He wasn’t quite sure of its exact function, but clearly it involved some sort of visual cloaking. Draco had tried a few discreet revealing charms when he’d first realised it, but being both unable to use his words or his hand movement for fear of being detected, he’d had to capitulate. There weren’t a lot of commonly charmed objects whose effects he couldn’t undo these days. That meant it was an individually crafted piece, infused with magic while being crafted. He wanted nothing more than to unwrap its secrets, take the stranger aside and inspect the pendant until it made sense.

“Another round?” Margereet asked as she sat down a full glass next to Stooge, jolting Draco out of his reverie.

They’d garnered a few onlookers, a handful of witches and wizards standing around with their hoods drawn to hide their faces or, as was the case with the tall witch behind Richter, a veil to conceal her identity. They speculated about the outcome and Margereet, ever helpful, took their bets on who would win right after taking everyone’s order.

“We’re getting old here,” Draco said, trying to fix the newcomer with his stare. His own hood covered his telltale blond hair though he hadn’t bothered with any further disguise. This was his first return to England since the war and even his parents had made themselves scarce. Even if someone were to recognise him after all these years, it would probably play to his favour in this particular crowd.

Across the table from him, the magic moved. Not a large spell but a natural reserve so deep it was staggering, rendering his trained senses utterly useless in pinpointing what the stranger was up to. The magic flared like a blanket, hiding from Draco’s eyes what spell was being used underneath.

 _So, so much magic_. If Draco weren’t so busy concentrating, he’d be scared shitless.

Another roll of magic, this time around the stranger’s left arm. Draco focused, willing his senses to deliver him feedback. He got distracted by the burst of a magic bubble around the strangers right hand. A distraction, he decided. Meeting the stranger’s gaze, he saw the amusement there.

Blood shot to his face. The guy was toying with him!

“Sorry,” came the low murmur from across the table. The stranger managed to sound chagrined even underneath the crinkle-eyed look and broad shoulders. “Haven’t played in a while.”

After a few more seconds of deliberation, the guy placed the seven of hearts on the center pile, pulling both his hand and magic back simultaneously. Then, without any magic at all, he put down his other cards with hearts. Only three cards remained in his hand.

Draco narrowed his eyes. Clearly, he’d used magic when playing the seven. Now, if Draco could just figure out what kind… He was doing it again! Relying on magic as though it were the only tool at his expense. He’d done that mistake once, on a rather monumental scale and he’d sworn he wouldn’t fall prey to it again.

“You new here?” the stranger asked, his eyes fixed on Draco.

“Something like that,” Draco replied. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Oh, I wasn’t able to make it for several weeks. Work.”

“I see,” Draco said, watching Richter’s slight of hand as he picked up a card, just not the top one. Muggle practices. Really now.

Draco went with his eight, effectively depriving Stooge of his turn. He could keep his three of spades for all Draco cared.

“Bert here isn’t a regular,” Stooge slurred. “Comes all… irregular like.”

“Bert,” Draco said the name so slowly, it seemed to have three extra syllables. Right. And his name was Frankincense. “Try not to keep us waiting that long again.”

Bert’s eyes glittered at Draco as he let his magic roll forth. It didn’t stop at the pile of cards this time, just kept coming as it rolled right over Draco, engulfing him like a tidal wave. Draco shivered, so distracted by the sensation shooting up his spine it took him several seconds to breathe once the magic retreated. He opened his mouth, ready to ask the question burning his tongue but his mouth felt dry as his skin prickled. 

“Your turn,” Bert interrupted him.

Draco looked down. Yet another eight.

Considering they’d already played two eights at the beginning, and another two just now, the fifth was an impossibility. Bert had transfigured the card. The last time Draco had been unable to pinpoint the difference between transfiguration and any other form of magic, he’d just turned nineteen and discovered his gift for sensing magic. Back then everything had felt like an onslaught, from the unthinking charm that made the carpet stick to the floor up to the deep magic protecting the vaults at Gringotts. He’d learned to differentiate, to use his gift selectively. With time he’d noticed how charms felt like a warm wind, while transfigurations were bolder, harder.

But _Bert_ here, with his magic that masked all else, had him stumped.

Draco didn’t need to move his hand to transfigure Stooge’s three to jack of spades. When the man learned to block, Draco would need to find someone new to play with. His mouth quirked as he put down his jack of clubs, his eyes never leaving Bert’s.

“Draw five,” he told Stooge, not even looking at him.

Stooge checked his cards, then looked again. A slow smile spread on his cracked lips. “Nah,” he said, pulling the transfigured jack. “I think Bert here wants ten.”

“Oh no,” Draco said, eyes all innocent and wide. “And we even had Richter play both red jacks at the beginning. That’s rough, Bert.”

He looked at him, daring him to another transfiguration. The rules were clear: get caught cheating and you lost by default.

“No Draco,” Bert said, his eyes holding a promise, “ _rough_ is far more fun.”

Draco shivered, his eyes daring Bert’s to drop their gaze first. Bert did eventually and slowly, he picked up ten cards. He slid back in his chair when he started sorting them, a look of deep concentration spreading on his face. 

Draco smirked when he saw him struggling with the full hand. “I don’t know. This is pretty fun for me,” he said, letting his index finger play over the few cards in his own hand. 

Bert didn’t even look up from placing his card when he answered with complete conviction, “Trust me, I can show you better.”

“Merlin would you two flirt after I’ve taken all your money?” Richter groused as he put down a five.

Draco looked at his cards before sending another little help Stooge’s way. “Bert here isn’t my type,” he said, putting down the card that would allow Stooge to dump all of his spades. Thanks to Draco’s help, that left him with exactly one card.

“What’s your type then?” Bert asked, his interest clearly engaged.

“Honesty is a big thing,” Draco said, watching first him and then Richter put down cards. He placed down his queen of spades allowing him to swap hands with the person on his left.

“Fuck sake,” Stooge muttered, handing over his single remaining card and taking Draco’s instead.

Draco saluted him with the card. “Ta.”

But Bert apparently wasn’t happy to drop the conversation yet. “So someone who doesn’t play here, then?”

Draco shook his head. “No. Someone who,” he paused deliberately to stare at Bert’s necklace, “has honest jewellery.”

“What the hell is honest jewellery, then?” Stooge asked, perplexed. 

“Oh you know, not the fake kind.”

Stooge’s eyes lit up. “Like real stones and the like? Jade and that?”

“Exactly,” Draco said, which seemed to placate Stooge. Bert, on the other hand, touched his pendant while giving Draco a calculating look. He ignored it and dropped his gaze to the king on top of the deck. Sometimes, things just worked out perfectly. “Or like diamonds,” he said, placing the king of diamonds onto the pile.

Stooge groaned and Richter accused him of magic but had to concede Draco’s win after a _Finite Incantatem_ didn’t change Draco’s last card into anything else.

Draco collected his winnings. “Thank you, gentlemen, as always. Let’s do this again sometime.” He smiled at the muttered replies and tried to ignore Bert’s intense gaze while also dodging his attempts to start a conversation.

Instead Draco hung around for some time, chatting to Margereet and her customers, catching up on the latest gossip. Bert left after another game and Draco was thankful for his departure. The constant awareness of him had been tiring. Bert’s magic was a beacon Draco couldn’t escape, like a flame that made him realise that deep down, he was little more than the proverbial moth.

By half two he headed upstairs and out through the second-hand clothes shop, the door falling shut behind him softly. It was late, or early depending on how you looked at it. The neighbours might stay quiet about the illicit shebeen below yet Margereet made sure to keep the hinges well-oiled and the _Muffliato_ around the exit up. The ministry’s officials would be here in no time if the patrons kept waking everyone in range.

Midnight coloured the street a deep purple-blue, cones of light from the street lamps illuminating the slight mist that hung around. The winter was generous with sun during the day but the night’s air was frigid, only letting up when Draco placed a precise heating charm in his cloak. His legs ached after sitting for so long and he decided to walk for a bit. The sharp winter air would be a welcome reprieve after the hours spent in The Den, too, with air stale from overuse and the constant reek of ale.

It had been a good haul tonight. Most of the money would go towards rent, even though Neville kept telling him it wasn’t necessary. It was to Draco. Not many had opened their doors to him upon his recent return, especially not those he used to call friends. Feeling like a burden to someone who’d welcomed him with open arms was the very last thing he needed.

The smaller side alley he took was utterly empty, no fancy lighting to guide his steps. Thankfully the moon was bright and his footsteps echoed with surety on the cobbled stones. He just needed a bit of a stroll before Apparating, needed to clear his head and fill his lungs with freshness. A dog barked nearby, the sound travelling to his ears on the otherwise silent night.

Only, not quite.

He almost whirled around at the soft sound. A second pair of footsteps trying to copy his, masking their sound with his own. Instead of confronting his follower Draco kept going with barely a break, stretching out his senses, his magic.

There. A familiar magical signature, muted and several yards behind him.

“So you can reign it in when you really have to,” he said loudly, turning without any apparent concern.

Bertwalked towards him, looking abashed even as the moonlight threw grotesque shadows onto his face. “Sorry,” he said, sounding earnest. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Oh no, what would be frightening about being stalked by a powerhouse of a wizard, one with hair in a bun and shoulders wider than his own? Draco shrugged, playing it cool. “You didn’t.”

“What gave me away?”

“Your footsteps,” Draco said, beckoning him along as he kept walking down the moonlit street. “You tried to match them to mine, but you were a bit off.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just too quiet out,” he said, giving in to the urge to reassure his pursuer. “Was there anything particular you wanted?”

“I —” The words didn’t come.

Their footsteps still not synced they kept walking, a pitch-dark alleyway yawning to their left. Draco shook the ominous feeling that crept up his spine and decided to take the plunge. “Come on, Potter. I won’t bite your head off.”

The hand on his arm stopped him. “How did you know?”

Draco shrugged. “The pendant. It’s exquisitely crafted, the charms woven into its structure are difficult and require a lot of talent. It has _Granger_ written all over it. It must have taken several months to make, too. I only know of two people she’d do that for, and Weasley has little need for it. Plus, he hasn’t got your magical reservoir.”

Bert removed the necklace, and Harry Potter looked back at him. Draco had seen recent pictures, but they didn’t do the man justice. He looked _good_ , staggeringly handsome in a way that was totally unnecessary. Tiredness revealed itself in the shadows under his eyes and the lines around his eyes, but there was no doubt about it: the years since the war had mostly benefited Potter's looks. 

“So I didn’t imagine it? You can read magic?” Potter tucked the necklace into the front pocket of his jeans and looked at him imploringly, face guileless and open. He seemed happy to remove the necklace, to slip back into his own skin. Draco wondered how often he walked around with it, hiding himself from the world. 

Disguised or not, Draco was pleased to see the hair and beard remained. The pictures circulating the papers regarding Potter must be several months old, back when the beard was little more than stubble and the hair hadn’t held in a tie quite yet. The face was still the same; intense eyes and skin to die for, combined to maximum effect with a strong male jaw. The hair up in a bun left Potter’s cheekbones bare, the moon lending them highlights they didn’t need to be stunning. The beard made him look rugged in a way that had Draco clenching his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Nothing good ever came of obsessing over Harry Potter, personal history had taught him that. 

“Reading, sensing, feeling, sure it’s one of them.”

“That’s very impressive, Draco.”

Draco couldn’t help the instinctual reply from slipping out. “Why, because an Ex Death Eater usually doesn’t amount to much?”

“No,” Potter said mildly, his profile mouthwateringly stunning in the moonlight as he wordlessly berated Draco’s outburst. “Because it’s a gift that usually doesn’t reveal itself that late. Unless you were able to sense it while at school, too?”

Draco shook his head but wondered if he was lying. He’d always been sensitive to magic, but without practice he’d never seen it as a gift that could be wielded the way he did now.

“How long have you been back?”

Draco slanted him a look. “Is this Harry Potter the Auror asking or Harry Potter on his day off aka Bert?”

Potter grinned and it did something to his face that made Draco’s gut clench. Potter shouldn’t be allowed to be this attractive, the bastard. “Definitely not Bert. Bert is an idiot.”

“I noticed,” Draco said dryly. “Took me till the ‘rough could be fun’ part to realise there was a bit more to it.” That and his ridiculous amounts of magic had clued him in.

A grin spread on Potter’s face, inviting and challenging all at once. “It was very out of character. Couldn’t help myself though. And to answer your question, I’m not working right now. So I guess it’s just plain old me who wants to know.”

Right. Draco wondered now if it was Potter doing the asking or Harry. He didn’t ask, seeing as Potter had been rather civil to him since the start. Draco couldn’t say that about most of his other interactions with people who knew him. “Six weeks,” he said eventually, seeing no harm in the question.

Potter nodded. Clearly there was another question burning his tongue, but he bit back the words. Draco was pretty sure he knew it anyway, felt it between them like a physical thing, scary and tempting all at once. They walked side by side for a moment and the silence wasn’t awkward at all, but familiar somehow, old and oddly comfortable.

“Where’re you heading?” Potter asked and this time, Draco heard the silent question loud and clear.

He shrugged. “Needed to stretch my legs. I suppose I’ll see about getting home, soon.”

To his credit, Potter didn’t ask where home was, or it really might have felt like an interrogation. All in all, this was one of the most casual conversations they’d ever had. Go figure. 

“I live with Hermione and Ron now.” It must have sounded like a non-sequitur to anyone who didn’t know their history.

Draco saw it for what it was, a piece of information wrapped in small talk. Right, because small talk was so _them_. His heart fell and he realised only then he’d hoped for a different outcome. “I’m staying with friends,” he said, closing off that possibility, too.

Potter’s face fell. “Oh.”

The mood shifted and Draco grasped for a topic of conversation. “Then it's true what the papers say? The female Weasley really did kick you out?”

“It’s uhm. It’s not quite as easy as that. But we are no longer together.”

“Instead, you’re living in sin with your two best mates.”

Potter actually laughed, the sound deep and addictive. “Is that what the papers are saying now?”

Draco studied his face, relaxed and open. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think they caught on. But I’m sure if they did, that’s what they’d be saying.”

“Probably,” Potter agreed. It was weird to have found a comrade in Potter of all people, but then they both knew exactly how it felt to have the media print misinformation on them. Potter looked around, recognition spreading on his face. “Oh hey! I have an apartment here.”

Draco rolled his eyes even as his heart rose. “Why do you have an apartment yet live with your friends?”

Potter scratched his beard, an almost shy gesture. “I don’t like living alone. So with Hermione and Ron, I can always go downstairs when it gets too quiet. I don’t live with them, really,” he added, like he felt it deserved an explanation. “I have a separate entrance and all.”

“Hey, no judgment here.” How could he, he was sleeping in Neville’s living room.

Potter pointed down a dark side alley, the look on his face hopeful yet guarded. It took Draco but a fraction of a second to make the decision and he didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Potter’s lips. They walked beside each other in a sudden fragile silence, both tiptoeing around what hung in the air. An imagined barrier of some sort, like glass that might allow them visual contact but little more. If either scrutinised the situation too hard it might come crashing all around them as so many moments had before.

One night. He could allow himself a single night.

Potter was the one to break first, a fact Draco knew he’d be proud of for a long, long time. “Does it freak you out a bit, how civil we’re being? Or is it just me?”

“Would you rather have us throwing around hexes?”

“It might feel more comfortable, yeah.”

“You’re an idiot, Potter.”

Potter nodded, grinning slightly. “That felt more like old times, thanks.”

“I could go on? I’d probably insult your use of magic at the cards table next.”

“Hey, I had you fooled, didn’t I?” 

They stopped before the green door of a three-story house, wedged in seamlessly between similar ones to either side. The street wasn’t big enough to be considered a main road, only pedestrians allowed here. But it did have all the amenities, a Grocer’s sign topped with snow peeking out at the next corner, a bookshop just opposite. What really caught his eye was the bakery just next door. It was still dark, the hour too early even for bakers to be at work. Yet Draco couldn’t help it, wondered if they offered Baguette comparable to what he’d enjoyed over the last few years.

Before he could ask about the truly quaint location, Potter took out his wand and unlocked the door with a complicated sequence. He slid a sideways glance at Draco, like he was waiting for a response.

What had they been talking about? Right, Potter’s card game gimmicks. “You used brute force, Potter. No finesse at all,” he said as they started on the stairs. Draco tried ignoring the electric feeling dashing along his skin, his thoughts purposefully concentrated on every precice step instead of anything else.

Potter seemed unbothered by such inner turmoil and simply nodded. “You know, this really does feel more familiar. You insulting my abilities is what has been missing from my life over the past few years.”

On the second landing Potter headed for a door on the far right, once again unlocking it with his wand. He pushed it open far too quickly before he looked a question at Draco.

Draco’s thoughts were purposefully jumbled, one part screaming at him which the other ignored. This wasn’t a rational decision, that much was clear. That didn’t mean he wanted it less. He studied Potter for a long moment, standing there looking casual as he held open the door. Casual to anyone who didn’t know him better. Draco had spent enough years studying his expression for weakness though and he could see the way his stance was just a bit forced in its casualness, the way his fingers gripped the door a tad too tight and how Potter's gaze was trying very, very hard not to be a challenge.

Draco hid a smile and stepped through, listening to the door fall shut behind them.

Potter didn’t bother with lights, the hallway dark and foreboding, the only illumination from the moonlight shining in through the adjacent rooms, leaving broad slashed of brighter carpet behind. It didn’t look welcoming, this cool-grey and clearly unlived in apartment.

Draco suppressed a shiver. He’d made his choice and he wanted to see the outcome.

The small hallway branched off to a few rooms Draco had no problem identifying, even without Potter playing the gracious host. The place wasn’t really furnished, just a few pieces here and there, left-overs with nowhere else to go but collect dust here. The kitchen they passed was spotless, clearly unused. There was a single end table visible through the opened door in the living room. A small towel hung in the bathroom by the sink, missing all other forms of comfort. No rugs, no decorations at all.

“It’s good you don’t live here,” Draco said, taking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket in the hallway garderobe, Potter doing the same. “This is depressing.”

“Ah, now we’re moving on to insulting my living arrangements. This really does feel like old times.”

Draco spun around, pushing Potter against the wall roughly. “This is nothing like old times,” he growled. And kissed him.

To be fair, it didn’t take Potter long. His hands went to Draco’s shoulders, strong fingers digging into his skin. Without warning, Potter pushed him back and he nearly tripped across the narrow hallway before it was _his_ back pressed against the wall. He exhaled sharply at the dull ache of the impact. In reprimand he bit Potter’s lip until a faint copper flavour filled his mouth. Draco smiled grimly. It tasted of victory.

“I guess civility is overrated,” Potter murmured not moving back, instead letting his hands wander down Draco’s front. They reached his belt, a teasing touch as their gazes met.

It was Potter who lost, his own bluff called as his hands slid back up, beneath Draco’s sweater this time. It wasn’t the exploratory touch of a first-time lover, the gentle caress of someone who seemed afraid the other might bolt. Instead, the scrape of blunt nails tore a moan from Draco, heat pooling in his belly when Potter didn’t let up, both rough and demanding as he coaxed yet more sounds from his throat, swallowing them with his demanding mouth.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but between one moment and the next he’d lost control, Potter’s hands molding him with far too much ease. Draco tried to claw his way back, tried for a semblance of control even under the onslaught of sensation and the overbearing weight of the knowledge that yes, that was Harry Potter’s hand squeezing his arse.

But Potter wouldn’t win, not this easily. Other’s might fall over themselves trying to please him, but that was never how they’d worked. Draco wouldn’t start now, not when every cell in his body rejected the very idea.

He brought up his hand, ghostly pale in the semi-darkness and started working on the buttons of Potter’s shirt. Once done, he pushed him back hard. Potter stumbled, that green gaze glittering, a challenge if ever he saw one.

Draco took full advantage of the space between them. He let a wicked smile spread on his lips, stretching suggestively against the wall. No one said anything about playing fair. Potter’s eyes darkened and Draco had to look away, couldn’t get caught up in the promise that gaze held.

The smooth skin revealed by Potter’s parted shirt drew his gaze instead. He clearly wasn’t one of those Aurors that stopped working out once they had a comfortable position. Where Draco was graced with long, lithe muscles himself, Potter was more compact, bulkier. He looked like a man who kept in shape by fighting bad guys, by making sure they wouldn’t best him. It made Draco’s mouth water and his fingers twitch.

He slid his gaze lower, Potter’s trousers constricting to the rather impressive erection. Draco licked his lips and almost immediately Potter started forward again. 

Draco reached out to halt him. “I wasn’t finished.”

Potter growled in frustration and Draco couldn’t help the lazy grin from spreading on his face. He liked that sound. Draco removed his sweater with forced slowness, every move meant to showcase his body in hopes of riling Potter up some more. It worked, Potter’s hands on his hips even before he’d finished. As the sweater dropped to the floor their eyes locked, heat sparking between them as he’d always known it would.

“Fuck,” Potter rasped, watching his fingers slide up Draco’s torso, exploring every ridge as Draco writhed under the rough treatment. The fingers curling over his ribcage made him squirm, their touch hard enough not to be ticklish. “We didn’t really talk about this.”

Draco snorted, reaching down to undo his trousers. He wanted to be naked, not talking. “Since when are you the voice of reason?”

“Draco,” Potter said, his hands stilling Draco’s. His voice was soft and so gentle it made anger spark in Draco’s chest. He didn’t want Potter to talk about it, about them, especially not with that tone of voice. He just wanted Potter, one glorious night to call his own.

“Shut up!” His magic exploded outwards just like the reprimand did. Potter staggered back, a speculative look crossing his face.

The next moment heat washed over Draco’s skin, heat in the form of magic. The scariest part being that Potter wasn’t actively directing that magic. No, Draco stood drenched in it just because the bastard had dropped his shields. The sheer amount was staggering. It filled every last nook and cranny of Draco’s skin, a swirl in his bellybutton, one licking up the inside of his arm. And he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how his belly clenched and his cock hardened at the casual display of power that turned him on more than anything.

With a wild moan he pulled Potter in, the need to touch overwhelming. It wasn’t so much a kiss as punishment, one they both dealt out and received equally. He brought his leg up and Potter was right there with him, grabbing his knee and hiking it around his hip. 

Draco broke the kiss just to murmur a desperate, “Yes,” against Potter’s lips, as much agreement as motivation for more. Potter’s beard scratched his chin with the sudden fury of their kiss, the fingers on his thigh tightening enough to smart.

“Bedroom,” Potter panted, his hips snapping forward until they both groaned. “Want you on my bed.”

Yeah. Yeah, that sounded good. Only he didn’t move besides sliding his hands up Potter’s back, watching those eyes flash and darken as he dragged nails down that delicious warm skin.

“Menace,” Potter said and it tasted like an endearment, one Draco had no use for. He doubled his efforts, digging his nails in deeper, spurred on in his roughness when Potter didn’t complain, but pushed closer instead.

They scrambled through the doorway, his shoulder hitting the corner hard. Potter distracted him with a hand against the front of Draco’s trousers, rubbing the heel against him roughly, his eyes sharp as he watched Draco’s reaction. The pain from his shoulder mingled with the pleasure from his groin and Draco went a bit mindless at the mix, moaning loudly and running his hands over any part of Potter he could reach.

It was like a drug, those hands on him. He liked how Potter’s touch manipulated his body so efficiently and without reserve. If he’d known it would be like this, he’d have had Potter far earlier.

They both made it across the almost-empty room without ever losing touch, sharp teeth nipping at collarbones already flushed with heat. 

“You need decorations,” he said breathlessly as the back of his knees hit the bed. The comforter was bathed in moonlight coming through the windows, the rest tinted in muted greys and blues. “And curtains.”

Potter shook his head, taking a step back to eye him, the slow perusal of his body ending when their eyes met, a dark spark in Potter’s, offset by a cheeky grin. “Shut up.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. Oh, this was too good, too easy. “Make me,” he dared.

He thought Potter might go for his magic again, and therefore the tackle surprised him. He crashed onto the bed, twisting instinctively to break his fall. Potter used that opportunity to turn him onto his belly completely before pressing him down with the weight of his own body.

And that wouldn’t do, not at all.

Draco arched, pressed up with his arse, teasing a groan that fell from Potter’s lips in sheer desperation. Potter bent to bite him in reprimand, hands clasping tight when Draco began to squirm. He felt trapped, deliciously so, and he wanted more. Wanted Potter, who felt so very good against his back, solid and real. Right then he decided he needed to feel the stretch of Potter’s cock breaching him, that specific loss of control he didn’t generally allow around anyone but a few select previous lovers.

“I like those pretty noises you make,” Potter said, his voice dark. He leaned in, halting Draco’s movements with his body. “Do you beg, too?”

Merlin help him, but he wanted to. He couldn’t answer because Potter ground down, his fingers bruising on Draco’s skin as he fucked him through at least two layers of clothing.

He felt like under a fever, sweaty and delirious, his skin burning against the night’s cooler air. He wanted to come. Surely it had been hours? His skin felt tight with the building pressure, his mind unable to grasp a thought. Well, there was one: _naked_. They weren’t naked and that was a damn shame. He wriggled free of his trousers and pants, Potter pulling them all the way off before blanketing him again.

“Take your fucking clothes off, too,” Draco grunted, rotating his hips against the rough denim. That was nice, but Potter’s skin would be better.

Of course he didn’t comply and instead kept biting at Draco’s neck. Anticipation shot through him when he felt Potter’s arm move lower. He undid his jeans. “I like you naked on my bed,” Potter said as — the arsehole — pushed down his trousers and pants just far enough to free his cock. It slid over Draco’s bum as Potter stretched, retrieving lube from the bedside table.

“Really?” Draco panted as slick fingers didn’t mess about, spreading the stuff around his hole. A finger pressed in and Draco already wanted more. “You have nothing but a bed and a bedside table, but you have lube in there?”

Potter scratched his bearded chin over his shoulder, rocking his cock against Draco’s leg. “I like a good wank.”

The second finger came as efficiently as the first, the burn making him gasp even as he relished the familiar stretch. 

And then the breath caught in his throat when he realised that _Harry Potter_ was about to fuck him, and he wasn’t even going to remove his clothes. 

That realisation caused a whole body shiver and Draco writhed on the bed, reaching to wrap his hands around the iron rungs of the headboard. He pressed back onto Potter’s fingers and forward to rub his cock against the bed, biting down on the inside of his arm to keep the desperate sounds from escaping.

“Ssh,” Potter murmured into his ear. “Calm down.”

“Fuck you,” he breathed, biting his lip to keep from actually begging.

A dark chuckle behind him, rough hands on his hips, stuffing a pillow underneath them before the heat of Potter’s body was back. “I don’t think that’s how tonight will go.”

Draco wanted to twist and give Potter a piece of his mind, to make him get a move on, to — only Potter did something with his magic, let it roll over Draco before electrifying it, a million little explosions all over.

“You feel that?”

People halfway around the world probably felt it. Draco’s cock certainly did, twitching as he nearly came from the sensation alone.

“Potter if you don’t fuck me now, I’ll murder you and make it look like an accident.”

His voice was weedy, weak, but it had the desired effect. Potter reached down to line himself up. “Can barely wait for it, can you?” 

Draco felt the teasing drags of the head over his hole, his breath faltering each time he thought Potter would push in. He did eventually, biting at Draco’s nape. “Yeah,” Potter murmured, rocking back and forth gently as Draco tried to relax, to make sure the slight pain tipped over into pleasure.

Potter’s hands slid up Draco’s arms. Their fingers tangled together around the headboard by the time Potter was in all the way, his hard chest a searing blaze across Draco’s back as sensation burst inside of him, every cell of his body focused on the feeling of being stretched, on Potter’s finger’s clasping his own, on that hot breath in his ear as --

“Breathe,” Potter murmured, nuzzling the side of his face.

The scathing reply Draco had for him never came. He gulped in air, which just proved Potter was right; he had been holding his breath. It took all his effort to fill his lungs, his body feeling hot and desperate, his skin still sizzling with Potter’s magic. He had so much to say, to tell Potter what to do next, to tell him what he felt. Yet only ridiculous sounds came forth, soft moans and keening little cries when Potter began to thrust lazily, opening up an entirely new world of sensation that swept over Draco like a tidal wave.

He drowned in it gladly and decided Potter didn’t need instructions, Potter knew rather well what needed doing. With that off his shoulders there wasn’t much left besides _feeling_ , his orgasm fast approaching as Potter managed to find just the right angle, again, and again.

It wasn’t long before his hand crept to his neglected cock, the cushion and his own body in the way. Potter still increased his rhythm, sharp stings blossoming from different parts on his back because Potter liked using his teeth during sex and Draco wasn’t opposed, not one bit. He couldn’t wank himself, he realised, not with both his own weight and Potter’s pinning him down. He could squeeze though.

And that’s exactly what he did as a distinctly male grunt reached his ears before a strained voice started murmuring soft things Draco didn’t need to hear. Instead his attention concentrated on the delicious stretch, the way his skin exploded in goosebumps every time Potter pulled out. The heat inside him grew into a near desperateness to come as they moved against each other, perfectly in sync. It wouldn’t take long, wouldn’t take much to —

“Wanted to do this for years,” Potter whispered, and that was enough. 

Draco came, one hand on the headboard clenching hard. A strangled shout clawed its way up his throat as the feeling spilled over and making him bite down on the comforter. His entire body shook as he came, soaking his hand and the cushion beneath his hips.

Potter would need to cast the cleaning charm, because Draco felt boneless, the insurmountable heat slowly removed from his body, leaving behind an empty white bliss that reached all the way to his toes. He unclenched from the headboard, his fingers sore from the force he’d gripped it, his body still shuddering in the final aftershocks.

And then he realised that Potter was still hard.

He wiggled his bum, nothing more than a lazy stretch.

“Want to keep going,” Potter said. “Please?”

Draco smiled into the comforter. “Say that again.”

Potter’s face scratched the side of his as he bent to whisper, “ _Please, Draco_.”

He shivered hard. “Mmh, yeah.”

Potter didn’t move. “You sure?”

“You didn’t fuck my brains out. I’m quite compos mentis.”

“Show off,” Potter muttered. He pulled out anyway, finally scrambling out of his clothes while Draco just lay there on his front, sated and happy with his arse propped up. 

Potter rearranged him to his liking, Draco watching from behind lidded eyes. He ended on his back, long legs thrown wide where a gloriously naked Potter sat between them. He ran his finger through the mess on Draco’s thighs, thankfully not touching his cock. It felt too sensitive still, a touch possibly the only thing that could get Draco off his fluffy cloud of bliss.

Potter reached down again, his eyes on Draco’s face for a long moment before he slid back inside. Draco arched slowly. He felt him, felt every inch as his body caught up, still sensitive yet wanting more. It wasn’t the desperate heat of moments before but something more analytical that registered every sensation.

And even if he wasn’t quite ready to join in again, he had plenty to do. Like watch Potter’s lean and perfectly-shaped torso, the way the moonlight glinted off the muscles of his hips and stomach as they contracted with every thrust. It was a bit surreal, like life underwater or an outer body experience.

The hands that grasped his upper thighs squeezed, both creating a contrast and holding him open. That seemed to be a thing for Potter, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from where his cock pushed in and out, like some mesmerising sight that had him salivating, biting his lip as though to cover it up.

Draco watched his every move for long minutes, the way Harry Potter, darling of the wizarding world, had to reach out to touch various parts of Draco’s body, like he needed reassurance this was real. Never did his attention waver, not once.

All that power and here Potter was, powerless to look away from Draco’s body.

That knowledge sparked something deep in his belly, made him stretch luxuriously as he reached for the headboard again, drawing Potter’s sharp gaze.

“Fuck,” Potter slurred, increasing the movement of his hips. “You look like a fucking wet dream.”

Draco smiled. Potter was one to talk. The tie had come free and his long hair framed his face wildly. It should have looked feminine, but the strong jaw and beard balanced it out, creating a picture Draco found infinitely appealing. A long-forgotten voice inside him was jealous, but Draco had no problem squashing it. He was here, he was the one to experience Potter’s feral beauty.

And that’s what Potter was: feral during sex, not gentle and soft but hard and assured, infinitely giving as he took exactly what he wanted. It made Draco clench around him. He reached out to slide his fingertips over Potter’s chest, his pectoral muscles twitching under the featherlight touch. Intrigued, Draco pinched a nipple, watching Potter’s gaze darken further.

He growled and pulled Draco closer by the hips, further onto his cock. Draco could swear he felt it all the way to his throat. Potter leaned forward, chests touching as he hiked Draco’s legs over his arms, bending him in half as he fucked him deeper still. 

Draco choked, trying to adjust to the deeper angle. No, there definitely wasn’t much gentleness in the way Potter moved and Draco didn’t miss it for a second. There hadn’t ever been much love lost between them, but this? This desperate gasping for air, the way their sweaty skin slid together and the way Potter fucked was magnificent — that they were good at. This wasn’t boring, wasn’t shallow and even if he’d be sore tomorrow he’d take it gladly if Potter didn’t stop, not yet, not when he wasn’t ready again.

Draco wrapped himself around the solid wall of muscle as best he could, scratching Potter’s back and pulling him further in. That tingle was back at the base of his spine, the mere idea that, yes, maybe he’d like to come again.

Potter must have felt the weak twitch of Draco’s cock because he pulled back to lock their gaze. A slow smirk crept onto his face, even as he huffed from the exertion, hair sticking to his forehead. Potter looked far too pleased with himself. “Been waiting for that.” He sat up abruptly, grabbing Draco’s wrists and guiding them above his head. “You might want to hold on for the next part.”

Draco wanted to roll his eyes, to tell Potter that his ego was so big, he probably needed to side-along apparate it.

But he also wanted to see if Potter could deliver.

He reached up, his fingers curling around the metal, his eyes burning a challenge into Potter’s. “You’re all talk again,” he said, trying to sound bored.

Potter gave him a knowing smirk before he wrapped a hand around Draco’s half-hard cock, pushing his own deeper. He angled his hips and Draco clenched around him grasping the headboard in earnest.

And then Potter’s skin began to glow.

Draco gasped, his eyelids heavy as he tried to open them wide, to take in what was happening.

Potter was neither containing his magic nor letting it swirl around him lazily. He pushed it forth, a mental effort that must be exhausting and it garnered him an actual glow, slightly golden on his skin, a full-body halo that captivated Draco’s soul.

He felt it, too, everywhere they touched, a live wire along the backs of his thighs, around his cock, _inside_ him.

“Oh, _oh._ ” He gasped because the pleasure didn’t rise slowly, not at all. It was forced higher by Potter’s magic at such speed it disorientated, leaving him to lay there and let Potter fuck him as he tried to remember to breathe, tried to remember how to come because that’s what was next, inevitable, unstoppable because Potter wanted him to.

Draco felt full, so unbelievably full as Potter’s magic filled him, all that power with nowhere to go but ratchet up his pleasure. And yet there was more, so much more because Potter was this crazy, scary bastard with more magic than Draco had ever seen before.

It both attracted and scared him and Draco gasped, sure he’d choke on the sheer amount of it. And it just kept coming and coming, flowing freely now as Potter lost his rhythm, rutting into him as his power pushed through Draco, as it leaked out his skin until he glowed just like Potter.

Dark green eyes stared at him, tracing lines over his writhing body, wanking him rough and hard as Potter’s own strokes turned erratic. He came with a grunt and a litany of swears, pressing in deep enough that Draco was sure he felt every pulse. It took mere seconds for Draco to follow him, his thoughts a jumbled mess of _yes_ and _mine_ and _perfect_ as his back bowed, explosions inside him so jarring his mind blanked, a white-hot knife’s edge that had him teetering on the side of unconsciousness for several long seconds.

“Still compos mentis now?” Potter slurred and Draco had no idea what he was talking about, unable to grasp a single thought as his body revelled in the aftershocks. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see that golden magic glow when Potter fell on top of him, a memory he was sure to never forget. 

They lay there, their skin sticky as the magic slowly retreated. Potter’s exhaustion must be staggering from what he’d just done, a physical and magical feat that shouldn’t have been possible. He’d stopped pushing his magic outward and it lay over them like a lazy blanket instead, mixing with Draco’s far lesser reserve. It was oddly intimate to someone who could feel magic, Draco decided. He’d never experienced his magic to mingle before. Abstractly, he wondered what that meant.

He stroked up Potter’s back, mixing their magic further as he felt the warm muscle there, the sweat and heavy breaths. Potter’s weight was oddly comforting, even if their skin started sticking together and his right leg was falling asleep.

“If anyone ever makes a joke about your stamina in my presence, I’ll be forced to hex them.”

Potter chuckled tiredly into his neck. “Well look at that,” he mumbled, lifting his head just enough to nuzzle Draco’s cheek. “You _can_ be agreeable after all. I just have to fuck you senseless and fill you with my magic. Could have told me earlier.”

Draco smiled, far too sated for anything else. “Seems so.” He slanted a look at Potter. “Didn’t know you had it in you. Literally.” If he wasn’t a Slytherin, the amount of power Potter had might have made him run.

“Me neither.” He yawned, shifting to mostly slide off Draco, leaving an arm and a leg draped over him.

Draco on the other hand seemed to be waking up. “What’s that supposed to mean? Hey —” he shook Potter’s shoulder to wake him. “What’s that supposed to mean, Potter?”

“Never tried it before, with the magic,” came the tired reply. Something crashed inside of Draco, that glass hope he’d been holding onto during tonight. It lay scattered around him now, a million pieces he didn’t know how to repair. A wind came through in the form of Potter’s voice, swiping away even the last few shards. “And I think you can call me Harry now, Draco.”

Harry? _Harry?_

His mind couldn’t grasp the simple request, maybe because everything else in him rejected it. There were a million reasons for it. First and foremost, it was way too intimate. His plans for the future were elaborate, but at no point had they included Potter — the man who bloody lived.

“No,” he said, making up his mind. He had too many goals, too many dreams and ambitions. They were the reason why he’d returned to England. Not a single one included knowing the Golden Boy — literally, Draco realised slightly hysterically as his mind eagerly pulled up an image of Potter glowing during sex — well enough to call him _Harry_. “You’ll have to remain Potter. For my own sanity.”

Potter didn’t argue, for which Draco was endlessly grateful. He just snuffled, his nose rubbing Draco’s shoulder as he slipped further into sleep, not having heard a word.

It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t. Draco would get up, get his clothes and get the hell out of here.

He would do exactly that, once Potter had truly fallen asleep.

Mind made up, Draco closed his eyes, feeling sleep tug at him now as he tried his very best to resist. Five more minutes and he’d move out of Potter’s hold, gather his things and tiptoe out the room. He’d get dressed in the bathroom before silently heading outside. 

Yes, that’s exactly what he’d do. 

Potter made a soft noise in his sleep, a long strand of hair falling over his peaceful face. Draco reached out and tucker it behind his ear. 

Yes, he thought. Just five more minutes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked my little holiday present. As always comments and constructive criticism (what worked, what didn't and why, suggestions, etc) are very welcome 
> 
> -> [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/168962286507/fic-magic-worker-written-by-karamelised)


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